I Hate You, but I Love You
by OneLastRefrain
Summary: Post:RENT Mark reflecting on Mimi and Roger’s relationship. My first Mark piece.


Title: I Hate You, but I Love You

Pairing(s): Mark/Mimi relationship. Mimi/Roger

Summary: Mark reflecting on Mimi and Roger's relationship. My first Mark piece.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They're all in the creation of Jonathan Larson, an amazing writer and a true Bohemian.

POV: Mark

I hated watching how he treated her.

They were always too busy fighting to see how clearly in love they were, and sometimes it made me sick to my stomach watching this happen. They were tossing 'love' around like it was dirt, and here I was, trying my hardest to be loved; by anyone, anyone at all.

I hated how she would appear in my doorway late at night, in hysterical tears, a death grip on the ratty wool blanket around her small figure. I hated how I let her cry in my arms and I hated myself even more when I whispered in her ear that it was going to be alright.

I hated how I let her fall asleep in my arms on the couch, while Roger stood in the doorway of the kitchen with a glass of water, staring at us. I think he was jealous half the time; that I was there for her whenever they fought; that I actually gave her a shoulder to cry on.

I hated how I fell in love with her, and the fact that no-one could ever know this. It wasn't a romantic love, but more of a sisterly-brother bond. I was protective over her, and well, maybe I did actually want to kiss her a few times. Just to give her the sense of comfort and love she deserved.

I love Roger, really I do. He's been my best friend through high school and to tell him that I loved his girlfriend; well it would break his heart. He would always start screaming after a fight with her, "You always take her side!" And she'd be crying to stop, since them fighting, would just drag me into this. I was protective over her, and well, I hated having her come to me for comfort. God, how much I hated hearing her whisper in her tears at night as she laid beside me sleeping, "Tell me you love me…please…just tell me you love me." Of course I don't believe that was directed towards me, but to Roger, who was at loss to say those three words that must have meant so much to her.

I hate how I felt myself falling in love with her, and yet, didn't do anything about it. I could have easily pushed her away when she came to me, but no, I couldn't. I couldn't break her heart. And without Roger, or me to keep her stable, well, she would break into a million pieces of glass.

I hate how I never even got to tell her that I loved her. Not when she wept into my chest late at night how Roger didn't love her anymore, how she was so alone and wanted to die. Not even on her death bed when she was to the point where she was coughing up blood, knuckles white from gripping on to my hands so hard to the point where they were actually starting to cut through my flesh. Her death was horrible, and it happened to be when Roger had left for Santa Fe for the second time. He hadn't been there for the last couple of nights as I held her in my arms and let her cry herself to sleep. He wasn't there when she was vomiting blood into a bucket because she was too sick to even get out of bed.

I hated him for not coming back after I called, for what seemed like a thousand times, within the week. He had been on his way, and well, he arrived back to the loft just in time to find me weeping into the hair of Mimi's lifeless body. I'm pretty sure at that point, he hated himself too.

I came to the cemetery with Roger today, to place a dozen of fresh red roses and baby's breath on her grave. She always told me she wanted a wedding with yellow roses, not red. But they were cheaper and Roger insisted on it, we didn't have that much money to buy on stupid flowers that would die within a day or two anyway. We could barely feed ourselves and pay for Roger's AZT meds at this point. Roger had lost his job at the bar, since he hadn't shown up after a few weeks. The only time he leaves the house now is to go to the cemetery or if I make him go groceries shopping with me. He doesn't really talk much anymore either, come to think of it…But then again, either do I.

I've been sitting at her grave for awhile now, and I hear Roger's soft sniffles in back of me. He would never cry in front of me, ever. But before I get to turn around and say something of comfort to him, he has his back turned to me and he tells me he's going to wait in the car. I can only nod before I look back to the gravestone covered in flowers, in front of me.

Mimi Marquez

An amazing spirited soul

One who deserved so much more.

April 18th 1978 – February 15th 1998

Tears filled my eyes but were easily disguised by my glasses. I pushed them up my nose, not that they were really falling down, but it was an accustomed habit. Looking behind me to make sure Roger was out of sight; I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a single yellow rose bud before placing it on the gravestone.

A tear immediately sailed down my cheek but I didn't bother wipe it away. My fingers glided with ease over the smooth stone's engraving before I kissed my fingers and placed it along the rose. "I always loved you, Mimi, I always will" were the only words to escape my lips as I choked slightly on my tears of guilty and pain.

I hated myself as I apologized to the grave stone, quickly stood, and departed out of the cemetery and to the car where Roger was slumped in the passenger seat hand covering his face, which I could tell, was stained with tears.

I realize I regretted a lot of things, revolving around the relationships I'm forced to adjust to. I hate how I'm always the one to witness these events, but never actually be apart of them.

But the thing I hate most is that I hated her because I loved her.

And now…now she'll never know.


End file.
